Trauma
by NineFeathers
Summary: Malik and Altair work through their issues in true Assassin-fashion. Originally posted on the AC kink meme for a "fistfight" prompt.


_Originally written for a kinkmeme prompt- Malik kicking Altair's ass in a fist fight._

Malik wiped his bloody knuckles on his thigh and wondered how it had come to this. Altair knelt on the ground, dry heaving, his face hidden by his arm. Altair had not expected him to truly fight, Malik knew that, and when their usual verbal sparring had turned to actual blows, Malik had decided that Altair desperately needed a lesson in humility.

The stunned expression on Altair's face as Malik vaulted over his desk was priceless, even more priceless was the satisfying crunch of Altair's ribs under his fist as his first blow landed against the Assassin's left side. The feel of bone breaking under his hand ignited something in Malik that he had thought long lost, and the rush of adrenaline swept through him, exciting, terrifying, and arousing all at once.

Altair's eyes flashed with hate as reason left him, driven away by the sudden pain of Malik's attack. Malik knew the man would do his best to kill him, and he could not deny the part of himself that desperately wanted to hurt Altair badly. Malik stepped forward and swung again, and Altair caught his fist and yanked him forward, off-balance. Altair's fist connected with his stomach once, twice, before Malik kicked him hard in the shin and snapped his head up. He felt the back of his skull connect with Altair's chin and his grip was broken. Malik staggered back, winded, and watched blood drip from Altair's chin.

Altair lunged forward and kicked Malik in the ribs. Hard fingers tangled in his hair, and his head was forced down; Malik saw stars as Altair brought his knee up into his gut. Malik grabbed Altair's leg and pulled hard, trying to yank him down. Altair stumbled but did not fall, and Malik used the distraction to throw his weight hard into Altair.

They both went down, and Malik heard Altair grunt as the wind was knocked out of his lungs. Malik rolled to his knees and looked down at Altair, who lay stunned in the dirt. He did not regret for a moment splitting Altair's bottom lip open with his fist, or the blood that ran from his nose, or the soft cry of pain Malik's boot in his broken ribs elicited.

Malik knew Altair had made a terrible mistake in underestimating his skills, but Altair was a Master Assassin for good reason. Pain shot up Malik's leg as Altair grabbed his swinging ankle and twisted hard, sending Malik sprawling in the dirt. His head hit the ground hard enough to send sparks shooting through his vision, and pain shot through him as Altair's boot connected with his hipbone. Rage tore through Malik, igniting every nerve and scouring the pain from his body. He flipped gracefully to his feet and stared down his adversary. Altair's face was bloody and bruised, but his golden eyes shone with fury.

Malik had forgotten how skilled Altair was at unarmed combat. He had forgotten the hours they had spent practicing together, until they were so exhausted that they could barely stand. Then, Altair would have pulled back from the final blow; now, Malik did not doubt that Altair would do his best to kill him. The memory had distracted Malik, and Altair's vicious punch to the ribs knocked the wind out of him. Altair's full weight slammed into him, and Altair was on top of him, squeezing the air from his chest with his knees.

Malik thrashed, but Altair had him pinned. Nine fingers closed around his throat, clamped mercilessly around his windpipe. Malik fought to free his arm as his lungs burned. The pressure was relentless, and Malik gagged, fighting for air. Black rage filled him and gave him strength. Now he was fighting for his life. Something warm hit his face, and he realized that it was blood from Altair's nose. His brain had stopped working; he acted purely on well-trained instinct when he turned his head and sank his teeth into Altair's wrist. The taste of blood filled his mouth, but he refused to let go. Altair's grip faltered for a moment at the pain, and Malik sensed his opening. He slammed his knee into Altair's back, hard into his kidneys. Altair dropped bonelessly to the ground, choking.

Malik rolled to his feet, gasping. He could already feel the marks from Altair's fingers around his neck. Malik looked down at Altair, and his fingers brushed absently over the knife on his hip. It would be easy to end Altair's life with a single stroke. The knife was in his hand now, and its wire-bound grip felt warm and familiar against his palm. He could see the vein pulsing in Altair's neck, just under the tanned skin. He was on his knees, hauling Altair's hood back. Altair's eyes opened in surprise, clear, golden, and, Malik realized with a start, afraid.

The knife was still in his hand, glinting in the hot sun. Blood slid slowly down Altair's cheek, into his dark hair. Malik took a deep breath, adrenaline still pounding in his veins. Altair still gazed at him, and slowly, purposefully, raised his chin. Malik froze as he understood Altair's message. It was a challenge.

Or an offering.

_Do it._ Malik heard the command as clearly as if Altair had spoken it. Malik found himself unable to obey. Perhaps Altair deserved death, but deep in Malik's heart he knew that he himself was equally responsible for the events at Solomon's Temple. It was far easier to blame Altair than make peace with himself. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control as memories resurfaced.

Killing Altair would do nothing to assuage his own guilt.

In an instant, all of the rage drained from Malik's body. His arm dropped, the point of the knife resting in the dirt next to Altair's ear. Neither man spoke, and the air around them was silent except for the sounds of their ragged breathing. Malik slowly sheathed the knife and rose to his feet. He looked down at Altair, who seemed to be recovering his breath.

Angry with himself for his inability to deal the killing stroke, Malik kicked the Assassin hard in the ribs. Altair grunted, but remained still.

"Get up." Malik's voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

Painfully, Altair pulled himself upright, a hand braced against his ribs. He was shaking as the adrenaline bled out of his body, to be replaced by exhaustion, confusion, and pain. His free hand went immediately to his hood, and he yanked it up angrily, casting his eyes into shadow. He stumbled slightly, hunched in pain.

The bruises Malik had dealt him throbbed. His head swam and the ground seemed to roll under him. Malik's figure was blurry as the other man walked away, his back set in a tense, angry line. Altair tried to breathe deeply and steady himself, but his knees folded suddenly, and he found himself staring at the ground, unable to rise. He closed his eyes and drifted into darkness.

Malik heard a dull thud behind him and turned, to see Altair lying motionless on the ground. Two fingers at his throat confirmed that he lived, and Malik let out a long sigh. Awkwardly, Malik slipped his arm under Altair and hauled him over his shoulder.

The walk back to the bureau was a long one indeed.


End file.
